THE NEW TORTURE

"Hey mister, wanta take a chance on th' chimes?" This was the cry that greeted the undergraduate last fall on his return to college, instead of the usual "Scramble!" Beset on every hand by a small urchin or urchiness, the harassed undergraduate at last reluctantly took a chance. He lost.

The chimes are here now. They are in the new brick church on Mount Auburn street, and they work awfully well too. Music every hour, may, even every half-hour and quarter-hour, day and night, rain or shine. The denizens of Bow street and Westmorely hear them first; then the sound waves of harmony go clattering down Mount Auburn street echoing and re-echoing against the brick walls.

"O tempora, O mores!" The good old Gold Coast bath become a concert hall; and while the Seniors in the Yard with merely a seven o'clock bell lie sleeping with blissful dreams, nearer the fever the less fortunate Juniors and Sophomores toss restlessly between the sheets and softly curse.

"Ring out wild bells!"